The Bashful Bride (Advertisements for Love Book 2)

by Vanessa Riley

  He took the candle from her icy fingers and put it on the sill. “I love you, Ester. Love should conquer all. You’re my heart’s dearest love.”

  Oh, no he didn’t… Coming here, looking dreamy, twisting up lines of Shakespeare to confuse her—she could do that, too. “Bex-Bexeley? This love is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. It had no choice to be like lightning, to be a flash then cease to be.”

  His brow popped above a dark, cobalt-blue gaze. “Why do you want to leave me so unsatisfied?”

  She wasn’t about to ask, as Juliet would, what satisfaction he wanted, not with him standing so near, so touchable, so desiring of another chance. Ester inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of sandalwood and ivy vines on his person. “Will you give up rallies and danger? And be a man that I can depend upon? That’s the price for my love.”

  “That’s a fine price.” He hoisted her high in his arms and kissed her, gently at first, then with an almost ruthless passion that made her cling to him. He was dangerous with two hands, so dangerous.

  Clutching at his neck as if nothing in her world was solid or true, she couldn’t help but return his kiss. Maybe she wouldn’t fret this one night, not like she had without him. “I love you, too.”

  He scooped her up and made her float in the air. His mouth, so sweet, so set on teasing her lips, never relented. Not a complaint could be uttered, not with his ardor sweeping her away.

  With a kiss to her jaw, he settled her on the mattress, his finger dipping into her tresses. “You are beautiful. I’ve missed you. I love my wife.”

  Her eyes were wide, anticipating and waiting. “Then commit to me, Bex, and let’s live without danger. No more rallies or burning buildings. Then I’m yours. London knows your secret. We don’t have to hide. We can build again.”

  “Is it that easy? I say no rallies, no more fights, and I’ll have a wife who loves me?”

  “Yes, Bex. Yes.” She reached up and took his mouth, wrapped her hands about his neck, intending to never let go.

  His kiss was deep, soul stirring, tying tighter the bonds between them, but he stopped and stepped away from her embrace, her bed. “No.”

  “Bex?”

  “It’s Arthur.” Heaving as much as she from their denied passion, he moved to the window. One leg was out the opening before she could sit up.

  “Bex, wait.”

  “I can’t, Ester. I’m not a couch husband, as you defined it, passive, waiting to be told what to do with my passions.”

  She ran to the window. “But you said you loved me. If that was true—”

  “I do, but it’s not enough. I’m a man who needs you, who wants to love tenderly and completely, but I have to be a man who can still look in the mirror and respect what he sees. I can’t do that by giving up my calling or living half a life because of your fears. You have no faith, Ester. I believe in us, but you don’t.”

  “I have faith, Bex—”

  “No, you don’t, not in us or me. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love for you is deep. I give it to thee and only thee. But it’s not enough to pay your price. Good evening, Ester.”

  “Bex, wait.”

  He pulled his other leg through and started down the vines. “If you change your mind, come to me in Cheapside. We can begin again. We’ll find a way together to make our love last.”

  Head against the window frame, she watched him and waited until she knew he’d climbed down without falling. Cheated and alone, she bristled and slammed the window shut.

  But he was right.

  She feared for his safety, like she feared for Papa’s. The trip to Gretna Green had shown her how fragile the life she lived truly was and how easily everything could be taken away. If Papa didn’t get better, things would change again. Ester had never felt more vulnerable in her life.

  She had no faith.

  No faith that she could take care of her mother. None that Bex would shy away from danger. None that he’d be happy with just Ester’s love. He was a man given to fight, to save someone.

  It was wrong to ask him to give up everything, but that was what she needed to feel secure. How else would she?

  Somehow, Bex still believed in her, their marriage, or he wouldn’t have climbed three stories or denied a passion that she’d regret in the morning.

  With a sad sigh, she looked once more to see Bex, but the dark street had swallowed him whole. A glance at the night sky revealed a netting of stars, so many, like when she had eloped. Stars knew how to fly and keep soaring. They had faith.

  And Ester was jealous of them for being so easy and light and secure where they lived.

  She touched her lips and sank to the floor. Bex’s kiss, his respect of her person, had poisoned Ester.

  It had.

  She was Juliet to him, dying inside, without the hope of holding on to his love, and almost too weak to survive without it. But Ester was her father’s daughter, stubborn. She was also her mother’s child, so survival was in her blood. She’d find in herself an antidote for wanting Bex. She would, for there had to be a cure.

  …

  Arthur heard the knocking on the door of his flat. In his heart, he hoped it was Ester, that she’d come to forgive him, but two days had passed since he’d climbed in her window. She wasn’t coming. His notes weren’t being delivered to her. Another desperate visit would come to nothing but frustration.

  The knocking persisted.

  He leaped up from his desk and opened the door.

  Phineas was there, top hat in hand, rolling it between his meaty palms. “Bex.”

  “Yes, Phineas, was there more you needed? My guts have been spilled all over your parchment.”

  “I researched what you said to me about the Zhonda. Are you sure you want the whole story out?”

  Shrugging, Arthur let the man inside. “It’s the story you wanted, and it keeps my end of our bargain to keep the Croomes out of the paper.”

  “I know, Bex, but I owe you my life. I don’t want to make things worse.”

  “Some already call me the son of a slaver. How much worse can things get? I suppose it’s better than ‘Gunpowder’.”

  “The story of your testimony at your uncle’s trial could change things or make things worse. I don’t know how this will play out in London—brave hero or traitor to his flesh and blood.”

  Arthur folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’ve lost everything, Phineas. But you’ve held up your promise. I suppose I’m grateful.”

  “The talk will die down if nothing more is published. Bex, you could take your wife and travel the continent until things are better. How did you meet her, anyway?”

  “An advertisement in your paper. Funny. The papers which are ruining me brought us together.”

  “I wish it could do more to fix things. I saw how she went into that fire after you. She wanted to die with you that night if you wouldn’t leave. She truly loves you.”

  Ester only had strength when she thought him in danger. Fear was no way to live. “She still reads the paper every day. Maybe I’ll place a new advertisement. Perhaps she’ll see it and forgive me.” He chuckled to keep from grousing on how hopeless everything was.

  “If I found a love willing to die for me, I’d do anything to keep her.” Phineas went to the door. “This new story will publish in a couple of days. And I’m still looking into the fire. Warehouses don’t go up in flames like that. Arson or gross negligence will do it.”

  Arthur, put a hand on the door. “Just spare the Croomes any more pain.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but the cause has to be known. Bex, you are the one who called on me to do things that actually help.”

  The man started to turn but stopped. “I went after you because of a perceived injury, but for what it’s worth, you were a hero at the warehouse and long ago on a boat and in the courtroom. At twelve, I can’t imagine the courage to stand up for what was right.”

  “I still wonder, if I’d been a more courageous child at eig
ht or ten and discovered that the Zhonda’s cargo was men, could I have persuaded my uncle to take a different course.”

  “Bex, you put too much on yourself, even over thirty.”

  Staring at Ester’s sketchbook on his desk, Arthur shrugged. “We live in the real world, Phineas. I’m gunpowder, and I’ve burned up everything I’ve ever cared for. Travel may return perspective or humor.”

  “But the fight, Bex?”

  There wasn’t much left in Arthur. Heartbreak and leaving Ester that last time had extinguished much of his flame. “The cause won’t have me anymore, nor will any theater. Time and distance is a cure-all. Good evening, Mr. Phineas.”

  Arthur closed the door. Soon London would see the whole story. Everyone would read it. Everyone including Ester, for she still loved newspapers. Maybe seeing the whole truth would move her.

  He pried open his door and chased after Phineas. He did have one more advertisement to place. Maybe a woman as stubborn as himself would read it and regain faith in their future.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  No Happy Birthday

  Ester descended the grand stairs. Servants scurried about, readying for the party, but thoughts of her birthday made her head hurt. What type of celebration would it be with her heart in shreds?

  Her birthday was two days away, but Mrs. Fitterwall had everything glistening, as if the party was starting within minutes. Remembering how Mama would cut a slice of her cake with Papa at her side made Ester miserable. If Bex-Bexeley hadn’t lied, he’d be there, holding her hand, maybe even making some sort of speech, so Papa could rest. He still couldn’t walk but a few feet before tiring.

  A knock at the entry door brought Clancy from whatever hallway he’d been polishing to open it. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil and Miss Burghley.”

  What a joy it was to see Theodosia and Frederica. Ester needed them to rally her spirits. She almost jumped the final steps and met them in the hall. “Let’s go into Mama’s parlor.”

  Trimmed in fine blue, Theodosia entered. Her steps were slow, and her bronze skin had a tinge of green. Odd.

  Frederica, in a wonderful chocolate-brown cape, swept off the thing like it was a bad dance partner. Underneath, she wore a pretty peach-colored gown with large pearl buttons lining the front. A shawl like the one she’d given Ester would set her outfit off, but that one was at Bex’s residence, with her sketchbook and her heart.

  She sighed, depriving her lonely chest of air. “Clancy, can you bring tea and biscuits?”

  Theodosia patted her mouth. “Dry toast, if you don’t mind.”

  Her friend looked very green, and not the envious kind. The women wandered into Mama’s parlor.

  Frederica took a seat on the couch and dove into Mama’s pile of newspapers. The headlines—Arthur Bex in Hiding. Bex replaced as the lead in Antony and Cleopatra—were in full display. “Your mother loves her papers.” She frowned, “I’m very sorry my newspaper advertisement has cost you so much.”

  To agree was to admit that all her time with Bex was horrid. Far from it. Things had been almost perfect when he was here. One night of not fretting. He’d been safe in her arms. She’d been loved in his. Maybe when he’d returned through yonder window, she should have forgiven him. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  “Have you spoken with Bex?” Theodosia asked as she fanned herself with a foul paper.

  “Yes. A week ago.” Ester closed her eyes and she remembered the look on his face, leaving through her window. “I…We…We couldn’t reconcile.”

  Clancy came into the parlor with one of his fancy silver trays. Three cups, three saucers, three silver spoons—all for serving Ester and the best friends in the world.

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil, there’s no dry toast, but Mrs. Fitterwall says crackers are best to calm the baby woes. Shall I bring some?”

  Theodosia nodded. “Yes. Please bring me some. I’ll try anything.”

  Clancy made a quick turn and left the parlor.

  “Baby?” Ester covered her mouth. Her voice sounded weak and simple. A baby is what happened when a couple was in love.

  “Yes. I might be older than you two, but apparently not too old.”

  Frederica giggled and waggled her thin brows. “Nope, not too old.”

  Ester froze in her chair. It had been only one night between her and Bex—that couldn’t be—no, Theodosia and Ewan had been married at least seven or eight months. Yet, the thought of holding a baby with Bex’s eyes wasn’t bad. But what would it be like to rock that child, fretting about his father not coming home? She wrapped her hands about her stomach. A baby was a reason to reunite, a sad one if neither could compromise. But would Ester be like her sister, Ruth, having to go to the country to raise a child by herself?

  Theodosia put down the paper, flipping it over to page two. “So how long are you going to wait before you respond to Bex’s new advertisement?”

  What? He hadn’t even waited for their marriage to be annulled before he was looking for a new woman? She ripped the pages from Theodosia’s fingers and scoured the print. With her finger, she jumped from one advertisement to another until she spied it.

  “Humbled man of modest means looking for woman of esteem who must be a Shakespeare lover, lilac wearer, and sketch artist with initials ECB. Inquire in Cheapside.” Ester swallowed hard. “The only thing he left out was ‘must love baths.’ How long has this has been in the papers?”

  “A few days,” Frederica said. “He still loves you. Don’t you love him?”

  Clancy returned with a plate of crackers then disappeared again, but not before Theodosia had stuffed two crispy bits into her mouth. “Who needs bonbons when dry, non-nauseating crackers abound?”

  “Bonbons are everything.” Frederica giggled. “So how long are you going to punish Bex? He made a mistake. He’s clearly sorry.”

  “Why can’t he just come, apologize, and say he’ll avoid danger?” Ester tossed the paper back to the table. “This is more of a show. He needs a wife to vouch for his character.”

  Theodosia wiped her mouth of crumbs as she patted the tiny bulge in her abdomen. “The advertisement is cute, maybe even showy, but a man needs to be encouraged. Ester, I know you feel as if he betrayed you, but take it from me. You can’t ask him to be less of the man he is. Go hear him out. See beyond your anger. Then let your heart decide.”

  When her parents had disowned her, he’d said to wait for a proper invitation. Was that what he wanted—for her to say she was wrong first? Ester picked up the paper again, returning to the horrid headline, Bex’s Secret. “How can I trust him again? He’s still going to do dangerous things. And what if there is another lie he hasn’t set right?”

  Frederica grasped Ester’s hand. “Faith, even a small bit, is needed for anything. Believe that Bex loves you. I hear love always finds a way.”

  Ester wanted to believe, but fear held her captive.

  Theodosia rose from the chair as if her ankles weighed hundreds of pounds. “Come on, Frederica. Ewan and your father should be done.”

  “What are Fitzwilliam-Cecil and the duke doing? That’s an odd combination.”

  “It’s for his father, the Earl of Crisdon. Since he’s living in town, he’s taken up with Simone. They are at his club. Crisdon forced both his sons, Ewan and Lord Hartwell, to attend.”

  “Is it still awkward, Theodosia?”

  “It’s getting better. Hopefully, it will get better by Yuletide when Philip gets his new sibling. Hopefully, he’ll hear this baby’s cries.”

  Ester hugged her. “Of course he will.”

  Frederica stacked the papers into a neat pile. “You think we can stop for bonbons? Can’t you crave those, just once?”

  Rolling her eyes, Theodosia hugged Ester again. “I don’t know how she stays rail thin.”

  Frederica came to the left of Ester and joined in the hug sandwich. “I saw how Bex looked at you at the rally, and I so wish for a man, a decent one, to look at me like that. He’s in love with you. S
tubbornness or fear can make you miss your chance at happiness.”

  “I’ll think upon it, but wear something fabulous for my party. You two will make it special. Maybe you can stand at my side to cut the cake.”

  Theodosia kissed her brow. “Would never miss it, and we’ll be at your side, sharing your joy or pain, no matter your choice.”

  She gripped each of their hands and walked them to the door. “I’ve been blessed with the best friends a girl can have. Till the party.”

  Walking out of the parlor, her friends gathered their things from Clancy and stepped out to Theodosia’s waiting carriage.

  Ester watched the two-pair, and footmen aplenty, turn the corner. She was alone again. Wandering back to Mama’s parlor, she passed Papa’s door. No lights were on inside. He still hadn’t the strength to be there.

  Shoulders drooping, she went inside the parlor and flopped onto the couch. She picked up the stack of newspapers, her mother’s personal collection of gossip pages. She flipped past the dreadful headlines and found Bex’s advertisement. What must he think of her lack of response?

  Mama came into the room with her arms folded across a gown of mourning gray, for the workers lost. Her silky locks were covered in a jet mobcap. “I told Mrs. Fitterwall to put these away.”

  “No. Please leave them, Mama. I’ll do it.”

  Sitting beside her, Mama held up one of the papers. “There’s no mention of the Croomes or your ill-fated marriage.”

  “Yes,” Ester said. “I think we are safe from embarrassment.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of embarrassment.” Her mother stacked the papers. “Arthur Bex is still your husband. That means he’s family, and you’ve sent him away. But that is your business.”

  Ester sank into the couch. “But you were so quiet. I thought you were disappointed in me for marrying the nephew of a man who helped enslave your family.”

  Mama folded her arms. Her rings twinkled in the light as she twisted them. “Ester, Bex may be a lot of things, but he’s not Captain Bexeley. I haven’t disowned Bex, even if you have.”

  The words stung, but they were true. Ester brushed a loose curl from her braid. “He’ll allow me to claim fraud to end this marriage. I don’t have to accept his lies. You won’t have to think of him as family anymore.”